Wednesday's Child is Broken
by Sensue
Summary: The death of a parent is one of the hardest things a child can go through in their lives. He watched one parent die as a child, too young and afraid to do anything but run away, then spent years hiding, afraid of the monsters out there. He grew up, fought
1. Chapter 1

**Wednesday's Child is Broken By Sensue  
**

**_Summary_**: _The death of a parent is one of the hardest things a child can go through in their lives. He watched one parent die as a child, too young and afraid to do anything but run away, then spent years hiding, afraid of the monsters out there. He grew up, fought hard to make her proud of him…and then watched it all fade away._

_**Author's Note:** This is something different. I'm not sure how to explain without ruining the story line, it's emotional, introspective. _

_**Storyline**: After John's death, Dean transformed from a laid-back hunter who lives for the safety of his family to a man walking right along the edge of suicide, rage, and utter devastation. He wants nothing more than "for it to be over." He pretends that he is fine, that he's in control—and Sam lets him, knowing that he is the only one keeping his brother alive, but he himself is unable to shake the fear that he is the cause of his family's pain. For the sake of this story, I'm going to ignore the whole FBI manhunt and Dean being wanted by the police._

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own Supernatural, the series, the characters or anything else Supernatural related. I just watch the show…and dream about what I could do IF I owned them._

----------------------  
Chapter One  
----------------------

Dean sat in the grimy booth, waiting for his brother and his small bladder to come out of the bathroom and join him for a lunch that did not come out of a microwave, for once. He tapped on the table top, then picked up the salt shaker and twisted the cap on and off.

The heavy-set waitress came up to him, "You still waitin' on your _friend_, there?" She sounded bored, popping her over-used bubble gum _again_.

"Yeah. I'm still waiting. How about a refill?" He lifted up his sludge filled mug, giving her a smirk. Glaring at him, she pounded off to the kitchen area and grabbed the coffee pot. Striding over to his booth, she made a big show of pouring his coffee, then swaying her large curvy hips, walked away.

It took all of Dean's self-control not to belittle her. It wasn't her fault that Sam took forever in the john.

He turned around his seat, surveying the diner for the millionth time since he'd sat down. It was a disgusting dump. The place was hardly sanitary, dead flies lay decaying on the window sill, as the sound of deep fried fat boiled and hissed in the background. Unfortunately, this was the only place to eat for the next hundred miles—unless they wanted to microwave their meals at a gas station as they'd been doing for the past week and a half.

Sam had nearly dug his heels in and refused to come in the place after they'd seen the garbage lining the door of the restaurant, but Dean forced him inside. "Sam, if I have to eat another 'hot pocket' today, I'm going to puke."

His brother's eyes bulged as he viewed the inside of the diner. "I can't believe that this place hasn't been quarantined."

"Dude, shut up! It has food! It has meat! Real meat. So, just shut your trap and enjoy it."

They'd sat down at a booth near the door, Sam fidgeting as he tried to avoid a grease stain on his seat. He'd spotted a waitress sitting near the back, watching a little pocket television as she smoked. "Uh, excuse me, Ma'am. Could we get this table cleaned?"

Dean nearly slapped his stupid little brother, for certainly he'd led them to their doom. Sam and all his 'Stanford' greatness had forgotten the number one rule of eating at a small diner. Number 1: Never interrupt or insult the chef or waitress, you'll end up with either a shit-filled sandwich or a coffee full of spit.

The waitress, who'd most certainly sampled all of the menu items on a daily basis, huffed as her 'show' and cigarette break was interrupted and then took an old hanky that was tucked in her bra and stared wiping the table with it.

"That all?" She raised her eyebrow at him, as if daring him to ask her for anything else.

But NO, Sam didn't stop there, no matter how many times Dean signaled to him to stop. "Uh, actually, we'll both have a cup of coffee to start. And a menu would be great."

The woman, who's tag read, "Here to Serve You: Doris" walked over to the dust covered stand and picked up a couple dirty menus and threw them on their table. She poured the coffee and then, spilling it everywhere, left them to go back to her show.

"You're an idiot! She's going to spit in our food – and that's the best case scenario." Dean angrily whispered to his brother.

Sam scooted up in his seat and leaned his head closer to Dean's. "This is the stupidest thing you've asked for in a long time, Dean. This place is disgusting. I don't want to eat here. Look – They have fly traps taped to the ceiling. There's a rat trap under our table!"

"It has character!"

Sam just huffed and ran over to the men's room, where the little cry-baby was hiding for the last twenty minutes.

He came out, still as grump as when he'd gone in. "Did you order?"

"No. I was waiting for you. God, how long does it take to take a piss?"

"Uh, excuse me –but it took ten minutes to find a stall that wasn't completely covered in feces."

"That's completely gross, Sammy. I did not need to know that!"

"You're the one who wanted to eat here. Jerk!"

"_Bitch_! And I told you to shut up."

They were about to start in on one of their legendary fights, when Dean's cell phone rang. He gave his annoying little brother one last glare before removing the cell phone from his pocket.

Sam sat back, wide-eyed with curiosity as he sipped at his cold coffee, listening to Dean's side of the conversation.

"Yes, this is Dean Winchester. How did you get this number?"

"Oh, god…Is he alright?"

"Yeah—NO, uh. My brother and I will be there as soon as we can. What's the address?" Dean snapped his fingers, waiting for Sam to hand him a pen and paper from his pocket.

Sam's concern grew as he listened.

"No. Just, _please_ tell him that I'm coming. And, uh, that it'll be okay." Dean's voice cracked slightly, he swallowed, suddenly a lump in his throat.

"Thank you for calling. We'll be there by tomorrow afternoon." With a heavy sigh, Dean closed the cell phone and then wiped his face with his hand.

"Dean?" Sam asked, "What's wrong?"

"We have to go. Now!"

"I thought you were starving, Dean?"

"Not hungry anymore, come on, Sam. Move your ass!"

Dean threw the money on the table, then practically flew out the door and to his car. Sam barely had sat down and closed the door before Dean hit the gas, sending pebbles flying everywhere.

"Dean! Where are we going?"

"Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin."

The location was familiar…then it hit him. "Why Dean? I thought that after Sheriff Devins died, that the spirit of Peter Sweeney was finally laid to rest. They drained that lake! Did something else happen?"

Dean swallowed again, not looking at his brother. "Andrea's dead. Car accident. Lucas was in the car with her – watched her die. There's, uh, the kid didn't have anyone else to call; everyone in his family is dead. So, he gave them my phone number."

"Oh, man." Sam breathed in, "Poor kid. But Dean…what're you going to do?"

Dean shook his head, "I don't know…something. I'm not going to just let them stick him in some kind of facility!" He slammed his fist against the steering wheel, pushing the gas petal to drive faster.

"What do you mean?"

"That was uh, Child and Family Services. They said that Lucas stopped talking again…they want to put him in a facility for 'troubled children'. Hell, you know what those places are like, they might as well be prisons. I can't let Lucas go there."

"But Dean--."

"Sam," Dean whispered, "shut up."

And Sam did.

---------------------  
_  
To Be Continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note**__: I've decided to __attempt to__ complete this story before moving onto the next one that I'm planning, before I start developing the habit of not completing ANY of my fanfiction. I've gotten my WIP list down, so that's a plus! I'm not sure how many people are actually waiting for me to update this story…I've gotten some wonderful reviews when I wrote the first chapter, so we'll just have to see if anyone remembers it._

-----------------

Chapter 2

-----------------

Sam leaned his head against the head rest of the seat, closing his eyes as he tried to get some sleep. Dean had absolutely refused to stop for the night, their needs were insignificant in light of Lucas's situation—plus, Sam wasn't in the mood to duke it out with him. It wasn't often that his brother was emotionally attached to someone or something other than his car, and it was obvious the little boy had become important to Dean. There would be no stopping him until they'd reached their destination.

Dean had called the Child and Family Services at least every hour for updates on Lucas's condition, driving one-handed so that he could handle his cell phone and the steering wheel at the same time. It made Sam cringe every time he'd watched his brother's hand tighten on the wheel to the point that his knuckles had turned white.

Cracking open his eyes, he covertly studied his brother. He was –scruffy—that was a good word. The man needed a shave, badly—and a shower wouldn't have hurt either of them at that point. Dean was sitting ramrod straight, his gaze completely focused on the road ahead, impatience warred with safety as he sped down the dark highway. He had to be pressing at least 75, in a 55. Sam hoped that the state troopers would just take a night off of their nightly ticketing.

Lucas Barr was a good kid, Sam remembered. He certainly didn't deserve the tragedies he'd seen in his short life. First his father's drowning, the boy witnessing the grizzly scene, hearing his father's last breath and watching the life slowly fade from his eyes. It had a supernatural cause—one that had planned on claiming the entire family; his grandfather's sacrificed his life for them. If it hadn't been for Dean's bad feeling on their way out of town, forcing them to return, they would've lost both Andrea and Lucas then.

Sam had done some quick research on Andrea's car accident, calling a few contacts that they'd made in Lake Manitoc. The research had all panned out—the accident was not supernatural based; the drunk driver who had hit the small family was now facing a manslaughter charge. He'd done some more digging and discovered the woman had a record; she'd been previously arrested for Driving Under the Influence (DUI) twice before and had gotten out with community service.

It made him want to scream; the woman was clearly an alcoholic—she had no reason to be in the driver's seat of a car. Someone—ANYONE—should have stopped her. Someone should've taken away her keys. But instead, she'd slipped away, got behind the wheel and in an instant of drunken stupor, taken away a little boy's mother.

He had to wait until Dean stopped the car, on one of their gas re-fill breaks in order to tell his brother. Dean had gone unerringly quiet, his face was a mask. He'd pulled away, gone into the store to pay for the gas. It was only through the reflection of the security globe near the register that Sam had seen the devastation flicker across his face, moments later returning to the car as if nothing had happened.

-------------------

Dean glanced at his little brother, now sleeping against the headrest. He'd been ignoring all of Sam's concerned glances since they'd left the crappy diner. He knew what Sam was thinking. Hell, he'd been thinking it as well.

They needed a plan; yet, at the moment, the only thing he could come up with was to just get there, see him—hold him and tell him that he was with him.

Tightening his hold on the wheel, Dean forced his memories to flee, using sheer will. He didn't have to imagine the pain Lucas felt, he knew. The memories of his mother's death still haunted him, even though it had been over twenty three years now. Everything from that moment on was about her. About making her proud of him, taking care of the only thing she left behind for him to remember her by—his baby brother.

He risked taking a glance at Sam; he truly didn't know what to say to him. He _was_ just 'reacting', and maybe his decision making skills had been emotionally motivated; but he knew that little boy deserved better than life in a group home.

When Sam had hesitantly told him about the drunk driver, he'd wanted to run to the nearest corner and up-chuck any food inside his body. It had made him want to swear off alcohol for the rest of his life. The entire thing—it was a waste. A young woman like that, she should've been able to live to see her great-grandchildren grow up. Now, she lay wasting away in a grave.

And her son, the only survivor of a tortured family history.

Dean's lips trembled, and he had to wipe his eyes to clear away the moisture that had formed. He couldn't help but think—if he'd known, perhaps it would've been best for them to all die together in that lake.

At least then, Lucas wouldn't be alone.

------------------ 

To Be Continued… (If people review) Hint hint.


End file.
